


Stage Four: Fear of Trying

by ussnicole



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bullets era Frank, Bullying, Fear, Frank Iero Is A Little Shit, Frank is popular, Frerard if you squint, Hate to friendship, Hesitant Alien Era, High School AU, I tagged it anyway, M/M, New School, Songfic, Stage 4: Fear of Trying, gerard is a nerd, stages of fear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 13:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11624298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussnicole/pseuds/ussnicole
Summary: Frank is popular, smart, attractive, and an all around “cool guy.”And Frank is afraid.Gerard is arty, philosophical, new, and basically the definition of uncool.And Gerard knows things.When they were young, Frank and Gerard were best friends. Gerard moved away though, and Frank forgot about his childhood friend. But he comes back, with memories and a vengeance. Because Frank is afraid, and Gerard can see it.





	1. That Nose Looks Awfully Familiar

Frank had forgotten how many people knew his name. It was the first day of his junior year, and he could hardly walk the halls without being stopped every five feet by classmates, seniors, and sophomores asking him how his summer was. His friends Pete, Alex, and Kellin were walking with him, enjoying the attention. They had hung out over the summer, but it wasn’t like he was especially close to any of them. Come to think o it, he wasn’t sure he had and close friends. The price of popularity, he supposed.

As Frank walked to his locker, a harried boy with fire engine red hair and a strangely familiar nose (pointy, small, and kinda cute – not that Frank swung that way, the guy looked like an idiot) bumped into his shoulder roughly and sent his backpack swinging off his arm.

“Hey, watch it! Fuck!” Frank exclaimed, hoisting his backpack back up on his shoulder and leveling a glare at the taller boy. Although Frank was an astoundingly short 5’4”, he was intimidating enough and his friends circled around him, folding their arms.

“It’s not like you guys are taking up the whole hallway or anything like that, of course,” the boy retorted, rolling his eyes and pushing his black ‘nerd glasses’ up his nose. He looked right at Frank, raising an eyebrow and flicking his long hair out of his eyes. Something flickered in them – recognition, perhaps – but he just peered at Frank and then shrugged.

“What?” Frank snapped, unnerved by this new boy, talking back to him. A group of people had gathered around, curiosity making a small crowd. It wasn’t every day that someone stood up to Frank. Although he wasn’t exactly a bully, no one wanted to get on Frank’s bad side. Gerard just shook his head, smiling slightly at the shorter boy and sighing before blurting out the most perplexing sentence Frank had heard since his guidance counselor told him he’d been accepted into Precalculus.

“You’re afraid.”

“Like hell I am,” Frank spat, shaking his head incredulously and pushing past the annoyance in front of him. “Stay away from me, freak.” Gerard just watched him go, biting his lip.

“I’m Gerard, by the way,” he called hopefully, receiving a “Fuck off” tossed over Frank’s shoulder as he walked away.

What a way to start the new school year.


	2. Second Impressions Can Suck Too

Frank had never really paid attention in class; he never really had to. He may be a jock, but he was smart too, and most of his classes were easy. Now, however, he wasn’t just talking or looking out the window – he couldn’t get that jerk out of his head. Gerard. What a weird name. Like some old mail carrier or something. It fit him somehow.

Just as class was about to begin, one last student tripped through the doorway. A blur of red hair stumbled in, holding a book and adjusting his glasses. Frank groaned and swung his backpack into the seat behind him, hoping that Gerard would sit anywhere else. Unfortunately, it was the last empty desk and Gerard stood stubbornly next to Frank until he moved his backpack – grudgingly, of course. As Gerard went to pass him, Frank stuck his foot out a little, causing the awkward boy to stumble again and fall into his seat. The teacher raised an eyebrow and folded her arms as Gerard shot out an automatic apology and pulled his backpack under his desk.

“Thanks for that,” he whispered sarcastically, leaning forward so that Frank could feel his warm breath on his ear. Frank ignored him, leaning forward and shooting an annoyed look at Pete, who was sitting next to him.

“I can’t believe this guy,” Frank whispered to Pete, who shrugged at him and cracked a smug grin, as he was known to do in every fucking situation, like, thanks Pete for being useless always. Or so Frank was thinking as the famous Wentz smirk came his way.

“He probably likes you,” Pete teased, eliciting a withering glare from Frank, who then rolled his eyes, grimaced, and flipped Pete off while the teacher took roll.

“I can hear you.” Gerard sat back in his chair, arms folded and a nonplussed look on his face. The teacher looked up from roll call, as Gerard had said this out loud over the quiet murmur of whispering and mumbling that filled the classroom.

“Boys, please keep your conversation down as I take roll,” she said, looking sternly at Frank, Gerard, and Pete. Frank went to protest, but the teacher had already moved on.

“I don’t like you, by the way,” Gerard whispered, leaning forward again, “and it’s really your fault that I was late and now am stuck behind you. Had you not stopped me in the hall, I would have had enough time to find my schedule and then the classroom.”

“It is not my fault!” Frank snapped, turning slightly in his chair.

“Mr. Iero! Please do not make me give out detentions on the first day of school.”

“Bastard.”

And yet… why did Gerard look so familiar?


	3. Maybe Time Doesn't Heal All

Three weeks into junior year, and Frank was already at his wits’ end. Gerard wasn’t in one, not two, not even three, but four of Frank’s classes. Fortunately, two of them had alphabetized seating, and Iero and Way pretty much assured that they were nowhere near each other. However, the other two weren’t and – just his luck – the only empty seats were near Frank. The red-haired boy hadn’t stopped talking to him, and Frank found himself on the brink of punching something practically every day.

Well, not red haired anymore. Gerard had dyed it back to black, which Frank figured was his natural hair color. Not that he spent extra time thinking about his arch nemesis – not in the slightest. He just had a weird feeling that Gerard wasn’t as new in Frank’s life as he had originally assumed.

In one of the unfortunate classes where Gerard was close to Frank – behind him, to be specific – Frank found himself daydreaming.

_“Come on, Fwankie! I wanna show you somethin’!” A small, slightly chubby, black haired boy ran ahead of five-year-old Frank, giggling as he was chased._

_“Slow down, Gee!” Frank (“Fwankie”) called, stumbling as his little legs got going faster than his body. He tripped, tumbling a little bit before landing with a thud on his back._

_“Oh no! Fwankie, are you otay?”_

Just as the other boy ran up, Frank was jolted back to reality by a pencil jammed between his shoulder blades.

“Ouch!” he hissed, shooting a glare at Gerard over his shoulder. “Do you mind?”

“I mind, Mr. Iero. Please come up to the board and answer the question. You should have been paying attention.” The teacher raised her eyebrow at him, holding out a whiteboard pen. Frank sighed and trudged to the front, taking the pen with a slight mumble about hating life.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Frank replied to the teacher, adding “except I hate this class,” under his breath.

“In that case, you can hate it after school in detention,” she said, writing out a slip for him. “Take your seat.” Frank glared at her, snatching the paper and throwing himself back into his seat.

“Nice going,” Gerard whispered. Frank ignored him.

“Something to add, Mr. Way? You can join him,” the teacher called out, writing another slip. Gerard started to protest but Frank shook his head slightly and he slumped back into his seat. Fantastic. He didn’t do anything, and now he would be stuck in detention with the one guy who distinctly hated his guts.

Gerard was on a roll.


	4. Detention - Be There or Be Square

Frank was (characteristically) late to detention. However, this was okay, because so was the teacher. Gerard was (uncharacteristically) early, so he had some time to figure out what homework he needed to do and what he could ignore and procrastinate on. He sat in the empty classroom the little detention slip had indicated, his papers piled around him messily.

Just as Gerard had organized his stuff into what he needed to worry about and what he didn’t, Frank barged in. Gerard jumped, knocking both piles of papers to the ground where they scattered. He just groaned, sliding out of his seat and onto his knees. To his surprise, Frank joined him, starting to scrape the sheets together and place them back on the desk.

“Thanks?” Gerard peered at Frank suspiciously once he got back into his seat, keeping his eyes on the other boy. Frank just shrugged, dropping his backpack onto the seat next to Gerard and sitting on it. He pulled his phone from his pocket, avoiding eye contact with Gerard, who shrugged back and began reorganizing.

Seven minutes later, the teacher – a harried man with curly, messy hair – finally rushed in. Gerard and Frank were the only two in detention so he collected their slips and signed them, handing them back without a word. Once the teacher – who mumbled that his name was Mr. Toro – had finished signing things and ordering them not to cause trouble, he returned to the front of the room where he pulled out a stack of papers and proceeded to grumble at them.

Gerard and Frank shared a sideways glance, both trying very hard not to laugh, and then returned to their prior activities. They became so engrossed, in fact, that they did not even realize that their allotted time had gone by until the teacher spoke up.

“You may go. I don’t want to… uh… see you here again? Something like that,” Mr. Toro said, shoving the stack of essays he had been grading into his satchel. “I don’t want to be here again,” he added, more to himself than to Gerard and Frank.

Frank grinned, swinging his backpack onto his shoulder. He walked down towards the aisle towards the door, but paused and waited for Gerard to pack up. Gerard looked up warily once he had managed to collect all his papers and had dropped his pencil into his backpack.

“Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?” he asked suspiciously as Frank fell into step beside him out in the hall.

“Why not?” quipped Frank cheekily, although his smile fell a bit when Gerard rolled his eyes. “So, I’ve been curious. Remember when we first met?”

Gerard resisted the urge to slap Frank. “When you called me a freak and told me to fuck off?” he asked, adding ‘ _or when we were three and I shared my lunch with you?_ ’ in his head.

“Well, yeah. You said I was afraid. What did you mean?” Frank looked at him timidly, his expression open. It was the first time since school started that Gerard had seen that look; Frank seemed so _honest_. Friendly, even. Like he used to be – Gerard felt a pang in his chest as he remembered how things used to be between them.

“Stage four, Frank. Fear of trying,” came Gerard’s ambiguous reply, and then he was walking off to his car. Which left Frank staring after him with a perplexed look on his face.

“What the hell does that mean?”

But Gerard had already driven away.


	5. Desperate Times, Desperate Measures, All That Jazz

“I thought I told you boys that I didn’t want to see you here again?” Mr. Toro asked, frowning as (yet again) Frank and Gerard were the only two populating the detention room after school. It was about a week after their last detention, and while Frank and Gerard had been getting along better, Frank still had questions that needed to be answered.

Once Mr. Toro had signed their slips and then retreated to his desk, popping earphones in as he graded papers, Frank put his phone away and then looked over at Gerard.

“Hi.”

“Why did you get us sent into detention _again?_ ” Gerard hissed, shooting daggers at Frank.

“You never answered my question!”

“You’re still hung up about that? It was a week ago. Get over it. I didn’t mean anything.” Gerard brushed Frank off, returning his gaze to the homework on his desk. Frank, however, was persistent.

“No, no. You did mean something. You said stage four. Fear of trying. And now you’re going to explain it to me.” Frank planted his chin solidly on his arm, which was resting on Gerard’s desk. Gerard just sighed, pulling a half sheet of binder paper from his stack and placing it on top.

“Fine. Pay attention.”

“Do I have to take notes?” Frank asked, grinning. When he got no response, he added, “Geez, tough crowd. Okay, I’m ready.”

“Stage one,” Gerard said as he wrote, poking his tongue through his teeth as he scrawled messily. “Fear of pain. Almost everyone has this one,” he explained, sitting back. “Fear of getting hurt, or heartbroken.”

“Okay… what’s stage two?”

“Stage… two,” he said slowly, jotting it down. “That’s fear of death. Fear of heights, spiders, small spaces – all of these come back to fear of death. No one wants to die.”

“Understandable,” Frank said, nodding as he watched Gerard lean over the paper once again. “Stage three,” he noted, eyes following the other boy’s hand as he wrote.

“Stage three is fear of failure. It holds people back from little things like asking someone out, to big things like following a dream.”

“How did you come up with these, anyway?” Frank inquired, kicking his feet up on the bar of Gerard’s desk.

“It’s a long story,” Gerard replied, fixing his glasses which had begun to slide down his nose. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay then. How many are there?”

“Five. Almost done. Where were we?”

“Stage four.”

“Ah, this one. You know this one – fear of trying.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“A fear of trying keeps people from getting close to others, and it goes hand in hand with fear of failure. You aren’t scared of losing – you’re scared of putting in the effort in the first place if you think you might end up losing. A dangerous fear, and yet one that keeps you safe.”

“I guess so…” Frank trailed off, seemingly uncomfortable. “Okay, so there’s four. What’s the fifth?”

“This one is the worst,” said Gerard, clumsily fitting the last few words on the small piece of paper. “Stage five: fear of living.”

“What does that even mean?” Frank frowned at Gerard, convinced he hadn’t heard him right. “How can you be afraid to live?”

“That’s why this one is the worst. It’s when you get really low, and you don’t think you can make it to tomorrow. When you’re not willing to face another day, you’re at stage five.”

After a moment of silence, Frank sat up abruptly and looked at Gerard curiously. “What stage are you in?”

“In due time, my friend. In due time.”

“You boys can go. And I’m serious about not wanting to see you again. I want to go straight home after school, and for some reason I’m the only one who gets scheduled for detention,” Mr. Toro interrupted them, wrapping his headphones around his phone and gathering his things. “Although I am glad to see that you two are getting along better. Now get out of here.”


	6. Memories Are Like A Kick In The Teeth

Gerard and Frank left the detention room together, walking silently towards the parking lot. As they got out to the cars, Frank went to walk home but Gerard stopped him, grabbing his arm.

“Do you want a ride?”

“Yeah, alright.” Gerard led the way to his car, dumping his backpack unceremoniously in the backseat. Frank kept his with him, ready to give directions to his house. He was distracted, however, upon getting into Gerard’s car and seeing all the CDs he had. “You like The Misfits? And the Ramones? Dude!” Gerard laughed and began to drive; Frank was so interested in Gerard’s CDs that he didn’t even notice that Gerard didn’t once ask for directions. Soon they were pulling up to Frank’s house.

“We’re here,” Gerard told Frank cheerily, happy that the two of them were finally back on good terms. Frank looked up in surprise, frowning at Gerard. “What? What’s wrong?”

“How did you know where I live?” Frank asked suspiciously, grabbing his backpack. “What the hell?”

“Oh!” Gerard was speechless for a second, unsure how to respond. “I – well,” Gerard spluttered, searching for the right words.

“Are you some kind of stalker?” Frank spat, getting out of the car and glaring at Gerard. As he turned to go into his house, Gerard called out after him and made him freeze.

“Frankie! Come back.” Frank turned slowly, his glare turning to an expression of pure confusion.

“Gee…?” He walked back to the car and sat in the passenger seat calmly, staring straight ahead. Without making eye contact, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know what to say. It’s been so long, and when you didn’t remember me I didn’t know how to reintroduce myself,” Gerard explained nervously, scratching the back of his neck and fidgeting with the steering wheel.

“Of course I remember you! I just didn’t… well, I didn’t recognize you. God, Gee… I was so sad when you left! You were my best friend!”

“We were five, Frank. I was sad too, but I wasn’t leaving to hurt you. My dad got a job. I didn’t want to leave, remember? I ran away and hid at your house for a day until my parents found me.” Gerard smiled tentatively at Frank, who stared at him for a second before pulling him into a hug over the center console.

“So what stage are you in then?” Frank asked as they embraced, grinning slyly as Gerard let go and rolled his eyes.

“Right now? Probably two or three. I was in five for a while,” Gerard confessed, avoiding eye contact. Frank squeezed his arm at this.

“Come in will you? I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too, Frankie. Me too.”


End file.
